


Hold on one more time with feeling

by Rasberrysmiles



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasberrysmiles/pseuds/Rasberrysmiles
Summary: “The paramedics didn’t get there on time. Or if they did they never found him. Alexander did, actually. Alive, but just barely.”Oliver finds out his friends have been keeping a secret.





	Hold on one more time with feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkywalkerLizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkywalkerLizard/gifts).



> Title from the Regina Spektor song "One more time with feeling".

It’s two months _after_ (after what? After I finally got out of prison? After I found out the love of my life was supposedly dead?) when they sit me down on the couch in Meredith’s living room. Everyone is there; Meredith is sitting next to me while Filippa is leaning against the wall. Alex and Colin have occupied an armchair that is probably meant only for one person, but since when has that ever been a problem for them? Only Wren is missing, (and James of course, but James has been missing for the past four years so that kind of explains itself), too busy with work to fly to Chicago for our little meet-up. 

They sit me down and tell me they have something to explain. I look around the room, but their faces won’t reveal anything. Whatever it is they have to tell me it’s obviously important enough that they are trying to conceal it. 

I assume that Meredith will start speaking – lately she has been the one doing most of the communicating between me and our tattered group of friends – but to my surprise Colin is the one opening his mouth first. 

“Four years ago, Alex and I got a phone call in the middle of the night. It was from a pay phone from a beach somewhere up north.” 

I can see the way Colin clenches his fists, can see how Alexander puts a soothing hand on his arm but none of it really registers. Four years ago, a beach somewhere. I know what this is about now. 

“He sounded… god he sounded half crazy. Drunk, terrified. He kept going on about some letter to you.” 

Even now, even with the weight of the conversation grounding us in reality, Colin still seems to have a hard time saying his name. 

“Alex stayed on the phone with him while I called the cops. James kept ranting, about you mainly. We tried to keep him talking, but… “

Colin cuts off suddenly. He looks distinctly paler, and Alexander wraps an arm around him and whispers something in his ears. It’s Filippa who picks up the thread: 

“The paramedics didn’t get there on time. Or if they did they never found him. Alexander did, actually. Alive, but just barely.” 

When I look over to Alexander he has his eyes closed, looking far more serious than I ever saw him at Dellecher. 

“He was… I don’t know. We were up north for New year’s, so it was only a short drive. Probably why he chose that time and place, but whatever. I basically stumbled upon him. Thought he was dead at first, he was so cold. I was going to call for Colin, but then he started coughing and shaking.” 

Alexander pauses, and Colin continues: 

“We took him home. Well, we wanted to take him to the hospital, but he refused. He said he wanted everyone to think he was dead, which is exactly what happened when someone found his car.” 

No one says anything else and I notice they all keep staring at me as if expecting me to say something, react somehow. 

James is _alive._ I wasn’t going crazy after all; the hours I spent reading and rereading those few lines I feared were his final words to me were not only the blind hope of a desperate man. 

When it becomes clear I won’t say anything Filippa tentatively starts up again (and when has Filippa ever done anything tentatively?):

“He stayed with Alexander and Colin in New York, and with me. We tried to get him to live with his parents for a while, but he refused so they offered to pay rent for him, wherever he decided to stay. It was easiest for all of us to keep him in New York. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

I speak then, for the first time: 

“Why?” 

They all flounder for a while before trying to justify their deception. Colin tries to explain:

“We weren’t sure how to tell you, or how you’d react.” while Filippa says:

“You have to understand, he’s not been in a great place these past few years and we didn’t know what seeing you might do to him.” 

“Even though we all kind of hate him for what he’s done, he is still our friend.” Alexander looks at me while speaking, as if trying to say so are you with only his eyes. I refrain from pointing out that if that were the case then he would’ve told me about James two months ago. 

Meredith is the only one who hasn’t spoken yet and when she turns towards me she has tears glistening in her eyes:

“And we wanted to protect you. You’ve- you’ve been doing so well lately and we - I - didn’t want him to ruin that.” 

I want to be angry at her; furious that she thinks keeping me from James is protecting me. I want to be mad at them all that they have hidden him away for several months. A small part of me, possessive and ugly, thinks that the reason for this is that they want to keep him for themselves, but I ignore it. I understand what they have been thinking. Even Meredith. I know she isn’t trying to be mean. She cares for me and for that I can’t be angry. 

Still, I need to know. 

“Does he know I’m here?” 

“He… yes. He didn’t want you to know at first, but when I mentioned that you got his letter he changed his mind.” Filipa says, an eyebrow raised. “I believe he wants to see you though, if you are up for it.” 

Alexander: “Colin and I have to get back to New York the day after tomorrow. If you want to, you could come along.” 

I look at them, and when they see the look in my eyes no answer is needed. After that the conversation ends quickly. Even though there is a lot more to be said, none of us can bear to speak right now. 

 

\---

I am standing outside the door which I have been told leads to James’s apartment, hand raised to knock. The building is small and run-down. Not at all something I had ever expected James to live in when we were younger. On the other hand, life hadn’t exactly dealt me the hand I had expected either. 

But I can’t waste time pondering what types of buildings we were supposed to live in. James is on the other side of that door – somehow, inexplicably, alive. I can feel my entire body thrumming with the need to see him. Finally, after four years I get to talk to him without the fear of a prison warden overhearing every word. 

Now, after all this time I want to laugh at myself for not realising my feelings for James. All those times just being near him brought a smile to my lips; all that ugly jealousy that for a while made me detest all those around me that I believed tried to steal him from me, and still I never realised. I wonder what would have happened if I had made sense of my feelings sooner. Perhaps this whole mess could have been avoided? 

I raise my hand to knock and just as my fist makes contact with the door the doubts hit me. What if James doesn’t want to see me? The others have assured me that he has asked after me multiple times but it’s still hard to believe. We haven’t seen each other in four years after all. 

It is too late now though; I can hear someone moving inside the apartment and after a few seconds the door opens. Then he is standing in front of me. 

James.

I can hardly believe it is him I’m looking at and not some figment of my imagination or a hallucination born from my grief. Just a few days ago I had almost given up on the hope of ever meeting him again and now here he is. He almost died, but somehow, he’s still alive. By some miracle, he’s standing here in front of me, living and breathing like a regular human being. 

He says my name, and it comes out as a gasp. Like he just now realizes that he needs to breathe and instead chooses to use the last of that precious oxygen on my name. 

“James,” I whisper, “It’s really you.” My voice catches on the final words. Then suddenly we are in each other’s arms, his face pressed into my shoulder and my arms holding him against me as hard as I can. 

We both start speaking at the same time, voices muffled by each other's shoulders but frantic enough to still be heard.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,”

“I can’t believe you’re here. You’re alive.” 

I can feel him shaking against me. Somehow, he is even tinier, more fragile than I remember. Once again, the thought strikes me; I love him, after everything that’s happened and despite all he’s done. All we’ve both done. 

James is still babbling apologies, and I interrupt him. 

“Shh, it’s all right. It’s all over now.” 

“You- you forgive me?” 

We disentangle enough that we can look each other in the eyes. There still isn’t much space between us, but it’s been over ten years since I last got to hold him, so I don’t think anyone can blame us for it. 

“God, James. I forgave you a long time ago.” I press my forehead against his. From this close, I can see his eyelashes, darkened by unshed tears. 

“I thought you didn’t want to see me” 

“You were dead. Even after I got your letter I didn’t even dare to hope.”

“I thought they would tell you anyway, after you got out.”

“Not until two days ago. I came here as soon as I could.” 

At that he lets out a small whimper; a sound that speaks of longing, of desperation and of fear. He tilts his head up, and suddenly his lips are on mine. 

This kiss is definitely not _almost brotherly._ It is years of unrealized feelings and years of separation all distilled into a single kiss. It is earth-shattering devastation and dizzying joy. In short, it is me and James finally, _finally_ come together with that same intensity that’s always been between us.

My hand goes up to tangle in his hair – longer now than it used to be at Dellecher – while his hands tremble over my shoulders and finally clutch at my shirt. I step impossibly closer to him, breaking away to breath and then kissing him on his nose. He catches my mouth once more, his fingers digging into the muscles on my back. My eyes burn, and I don’t know if the moisture on my cheeks are his tears or mine. 

Eventually we end up inside his apartment with the door closed behind us. Still, it takes a long time before we stop kissing and let go of each other enough to speak. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that” James whispers against my lips and I laugh, not a little breathlessly. 

“Ten years. I’ve been counting.” 

I can feel the moment his body tenses up against mine again, the small crease deepening between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry–“ he starts, but I silence him the only way I know. By kissing him and kissing him again and again. 

Eventually, he grabs my hand and leads me towards the bedroom. 

\--- 

Sometime later we are curled up together in bed. The mattress is too soft; even after two months of non-prison beds it is hard for me to get used to anything other than the hard cot that used to be the only place I could rest for the past ten years. Right now, it doesn’t matter though; not when James is here, warm and soft in my arms. 

We both still have our clothes on, the decision to stop at kissing had been mutual. And for now, this is enough. Just holding each other in a way we consciously never had been able to do. James’s eyes are still closed, but from the way he is breathing I can tell he’s not asleep. His hair tickles against my chin and I resist the urge to run my hand through it, because that hand is occupied in one of James’s. 

I crane my head to take a look at my watch. It’s later than I expected; I probably have a ton of messages from our friends. Pip has probably texted me, and Meredith too. I had promised to call them both when I got here, and they must be getting anxious to know how things have gone. 

My mind drifts to Meredith, and the conversation we had just before I left for the airport. As I packed my bags, she had stared at me silently with an unreadable expression. Not exactly sad, or angry. Resigned maybe, with a bit of dejection thrown in. I can’t blame her for that. 

I had only been able to stomach her silence for a few more moments. She had looked at me for a long while before taking a deep breath and saying: 

“I thought maybe we could have a chance this time around. Without him around, maybe things would turn out alright for us.” 

For a moment a pained expression had flitted across her face, and I had wanted to take her into my arms. But it had passed quickly and she went back to her previous unreadable mask. 

“You’re going to go after him, and I don’t think I can share you. Not with him, not after what he did to- “ 

The air had been thick with all the possible endings to that sentence; ‘to Richard’, ‘to you’ and _‘to us’._

After that, not much else had been left to say. I left for the airport a few hours later. 

James must have noticed me thinking because he twists his face away from my chest to look at me. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Our friends,” I say, “they’re probably wondering if we’ve kissed and made up yet.” 

James snorts, and I feel relieved. I am not ready to him about Meredith yet. The things that happened between the three of us is a can of worms better left unopened for now, and I don’t want to ruin this moment between us. 

Of course, this fragile peace couldn’t possibly last. It shatters as soon as James starts frowning. 

“Are they really our friends though?” he mumbles. 

“What are you talking about?” I try to read his face, but once again he has hidden it in the crook of my neck. I can feel the tension in him now, a far cry from our relaxed embrace just a few seconds ago. 

“They can’t possibly want me as their friend after everything that’s happened.” 

I have a hard time suppressing my incredulity. Is this what James has been thinking? Then I realize, this is not the man I used to know; this is the James who has spent the past ten years marinating in guilt and self-hatred. 

“Of course they do! If that were true they wouldn’t have brought us back together if they didn’t want you in their lives.” 

He’s practically rigid against me; agitated in a way I’ve never seen before. 

“They should hate me. You should hate me.” 

“God, James, no! I could never hate you. I love you, you idiot!” 

James shakes against me, tremors running through his body as he breathes unevenly. I can feel wetness slowly seep into the fabric of my shirt. There is probably something cathartic about it, but seeing James cry still makes my chest hurt a bit. 

“I love you,” I repeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

I suspect my words, pressed like kisses into whatever skin I can reach, must have some effect because eventually his sobs turns into hesitant chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?” I ask, and he twists his head to look up at me with wet, shining eyes. 

“I can’t believe you called me an idiot. I feel the same though.”

I raise an eyebrow: 

“You also feel that you are an idiot?” 

This silliness is so different from how things were a mere moment ago, but at the same time it’s like coming home. Above all else James is my best friend, the person who knows me better than anyone will ever do. This silliness, this light-heartedness is how things have always been between us, and the fact that it has remained after ten years of hardships and separation gives me unimaginable amounts of hope for the future. 

“No,” he laughs, “I love you too!” 

I believe him, and for a moment I believe things will work out for us. It won’t be easy; a lot of things have happened and for all my talk of fresh starts it will take time to move on. James is still broken in ways I can’t even begin to imagine, and I am starting to suspect that so am I. While I have kept things together pretty admirably so fare, soon things will catch up with me. The shock, the sheer _relief_ of seeing James alive will settle into something more tearful, but maybe also more cathartic. That’s the future though. For now, I whisper: 

“Good”, and lean down to press a gentle kiss against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this pretty much right after finishing the novel (as a compromise with myself to not start rereading it immediately). Sorry for the lack of Shakespeare though, I'm not nearly proficient enough in the works of the Bard and rather than just googling random quotes and decided to leave them out. 
> 
> Here are some random thoughts that occurred while writing: 
> 
> 1) Is this in character? I don't care. While I love the ending I also desperately needed to fix it, and this is what happened.  
> 2) Meredith!! I needed Oliver to end up with James because their tragic love story killed me, but I also needed to not just toss Meredith aside. This is the best I could manage. While I don't think she and Oliver should end up together (for multiple reasons) she doesn't deserve to be treated badly by writers and characters alike.  
> 3) Oliver might come across more emotionally stable than James which was both intentional and not. From my interpretation James has spent the past ten years marinating in his own grief, while Oliver has spent them pretty much thinking "okay all that stuff happened and I made this decision that I don't regret so now that it's over I can move on." Therefore they have different reactions to the past. I also intended Oliver to have a scene where he kind of breaks down because of all the grief from thinking James was dead and now the joy of seeing him alive, but I couldn't fit it in anywhere. Imagine it happens in the near future.  
> 4) If there's any similarities with already existing fics those are also very unintentional. There are so few and I have read pretty much everything, so there is no denying that it has influenced my interpretations of the characters and a possible happy ending.


End file.
